Small enough not to be significant, hard enough to hurt, yet too weak to remain as it is.

They blur our visions, and reduce them to a measly mist. We hear them, and their companion, and see the power of their friend.

They form a percussion band, with different instruments of the urban jungle. The rhythm sways, according to the wind, in varying speeds, according to the song. We don't pay much attention to it, yet it doesn't mind a concert without an audience. For those who are there to listen, will listen.

They prove to us our senses exist. From the sight of their mighty friend, to the sound of their companion. The smell they bring from nature, and the friendly tap. Not many can, or will taste them. For they are forgotten or perhaps just a nuisance.

Yet how many can appreciate, the finest of things if they fail to notice its presence on our daily lifes?

Evidence of them could be seen, long after the last piece. Yet the fireworks, that celebrates their success, appear only in the form of a silent bridge.

They eventually disappear, or so we thought. But what they are actually doing, is to regroup, for the next performance.

We do not know when, or where it will come, though we have tried sucessfully to trace its path.

It comes to us, unstoppable. And feeds us when we do not know.

It is part of us, when we least expect it. Or even realise it. But it has always been there. Probably, from the beginning of time.